My Native Tongue, pt 3 of 3
My Own Language
Since I was little, I have dreamt of creating my own language. The idea fascinated me. I could create my own words and symbols and teach people how to speak it.
I thought this would be the ultimate accomplishment.
That fascination became a love of reading in school, and a drive to write. And then, to study etymology.
I love understanding how meaning is created. I love how each word has a tone, a feeling attached, the connotation. And connotation changes over time, depending on how the culture evolves the use of the word.
Plus, words have different connotations depending on the context. The word, “recovery,” for example, means something different in cancer treatment than it does in a church basement.
I love getting to choose what words I use to describe myself, what words I own.
Certain words are mine, and that changes over time. I am sober & in long-term recovery from trauma and substances. I am queer. I am female, although maybe more gender fluid as time goes on.
And I am a writer. I’m a poet, and I’m a truth teller. I am a Trauma Therapist and Energy Healer.
I am a Spiritual Warrior and Coach.
All of these words, to me, are lovely.
But to others, being “sober” or “in recovery” for example, means something different. Sober can have the connotation of dull, lame, or boring. Being in recovery can mean someone is outside of the norm or weird.
But if you have ever gone too far down the rabbit hole with substances, if you have ever woken up not remembering what happened, it’s enough to terrify you. And the 5th, 6th, 10th, or 25th times, it’s worse.
For me, the anxiety was visceral. The embarrassment, humiliation, and the pain of it was awful. It was not how I wanted to spend my Sundays. Or Saturdays. And then, quitting drinking and coming over to this dull, lame, who-does-that sober side was also terrifying. But it was terrifying like a roller coaster – thrilling, and my eyes are wide open. And unlike the blackouts, I chose to get on this ride.
See, that’s the thing with alcohol: we tell ourselves we’re in control. I told myself I was in control.
But does anyone truly want to black out? I did not choose each night to overdo it. In fact, many times I tried very hard not to. And sometimes, I would succeed in that. But at least one out of every 10 times drinking, I would not remember things. And that was not my choice; I had lost control.
Accepting this fact was what moved me towards putting it down entirely. Because one drink was what turned the switch for me, made it so something else within me took over. One drink was the key to I-can’t-even-predict how many, and that was the key to visceral anxiety.
So if one drink was the key to the visceral anxiety, always (whether that’s tomorrow, next week, or three weeks from now when I overdo it again), then no drinks was the key to the opposite: peace. Clarity.
The Truth
The truth is that the peace and clarity don’t come right away. They are there, and they are accessible. But the first thing that comes is the roller coaster of emotions. All of the ones we haven’t been feeling because -- Let’s get fucked up. It’s Friday, right? Let’s go out.
The truth is that the peace and the clarity are obscured by fear. What if I’m weird? What if I mess up sober? What if they’re mad at me?
What if people don’t invite me places anymore? What if I have no friends?
Trust. Trust that if this is your Thing (a struggle with alcohol), and you are feeling called to stop, then someone and something is calling to you.
Let me repeat that: Someone or Something is Calling To You.
You are being called to something bigger.
And that means that every step of the way, that Someone or Something has got your back. The path is there. It’s in front of you. You are walking it. The fear will be there, but you are in the driver’s seat.
Feel the fear, and do it anyway.